


A Mindful Meeting of Truth

by FOREVER_SHERLOCKED



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Gen, Ghost Victor Trevor, Mind Palace Victor Trevor, Nice Victor Trevor, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pirates, Redbeard - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes & Victor Trevor Friendship, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock's BFF Victor Trevor, Yellowbeard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27040867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FOREVER_SHERLOCKED/pseuds/FOREVER_SHERLOCKED
Summary: After the events of Sherrinford and making sure everyone is safe for the night, Sherlock goes back to 221B and retreats into his mind palace to file the new and disturbing memories, but instead, he ends up meeting someone familiar in one of his favorite rooms, and they end up being just what he needed to calm him down. Like usual.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30
Collections: Sherlolly Spooktober 2020 Challenge





	A Mindful Meeting of Truth

Eurus is safely secure back in Sherrinford, Mycroft is home most likely retching from his part in the deaths, John is home safe with little Rosie, Molly is happy again after hearing from Sherlock's own mouth his explanation, his parents are still in shock, but happy to be united with their daughter, even if not in the ways they wanted, and all is well and right again in the world.

Sherlock's exhausted and gaunt form trudges through the front door of 221B and up the stairs. It's past midnight now and as tired as he is, he can't bring himself to sleep. Vivid memories of all that had happened in Sherrinford rush through his mind on replay; all of the emotion welled up inside him from the evil endeavors of his sister, as much as John and his brother thought they had seen, had not been, and they tumble out of his body in wracking sobs as he sinks into his familiar leather chair. Covering his face with his hands, he eventually gains control again and wipes his face.

This is why he hates emotion. Look what he had done to them; he was so scared and so concerned that he didn't even see that the endgame was a metaphor, a fraud, a non-existent threat. There was no little girl to save, only his own adult sister from her psychotic mind. All those deaths were almost for naught. Thinking back to the Musgrave ritual, he realizes that as bright as he was, six-year-old him never could have figured that out. It doesn't relieve his guilt, but he knows that even he was susceptible to the innocence of childhood at one point. That was the difference between him and Eurus.

Relaxing back against his cozy seat, Sherlock lets himself drift off into his mind palace. His initial intention was to go through the memories of the day and store them in the proper rooms, however, that is not where his mind, or rather, his heart, led him.

~ ~ ~

_Sherlock enters his mind palace and looks down the long hallway, where, at the end, his room of comfort and of security stands. He has been to this room many times before, especially the times he was dying, but this time it was different. This time it wasn't a false memory, but a truth. He was both nervous and willing to see what lay behind the doors of his favorite room now._

_Unlike the frantic rush of the previous time, Sherlock takes slow strides toward the large, double cherry wood doors, the sound of his shoes gently clacking on the marbled floor with each step. Upon reaching it, Sherlock reaches his hands out to pull at the heavy doors metal handles, grunting slightly as he flings them open with force._

_Time seems to stop, even in his mind as Sherlock steps inside the large room and takes in the sight before him. The heavy doors slam and click shut behind his back. His eyes widen and his jaw drops just slightly, suddenly more nervous and shoving his hands into the pockets of his Belstaff._

_Stood before him was a man of about six foot two. He wore a blue and red open flannel shirt with a black t-shirt beneath, and jeans. New white sneakers upon his feet glisten in the bright lights of the tall room. The man wears a broad, endearing, yet boyish smile, and looks across the empty room with clear blue eyes. His flaming red-orange hair and trimmed facial hair seems to attract the light that reflects off of it. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans almost shyly and speaks before Sherlock does, in a deep but not gruff voice._

_"Yellowbeard...I was wondering when you'd come around, my friend."_

_Sherlock swallows the lump in his throat and takes in the man standing there again, remembering back to when he used to sit there as a red setter dog._

_"Redbeard...I-I..."_

_"Now don't you fret about it, it was hardly your fault, and I don't want you thinking that it was. Your siblings haven't been very kind to you, have they Hero?"_

_"W-Well...no, but that's hardly news."_

_"True", Victor chuckles softly._

_"How..."_

_"How am I here? Oh, come on! You're the great Sherlock Holmes now, eh? You can figure that one out", he teases. "We are in your mind palace are we not? Clever little place you've got here by the way. I should be honored that you've got a large, yet empty shrine for me, mate."_

_Sherlock chuckles a bit. "I thought you were my dog."_

_"I know, I spent years being a dog in this place. A nice-looking dog by the way, but I'm glad I'm free of the...fleas though." Victor smirks and teases again._

_Sherlock snorts and smiles. "You always were a comic. I see that hasn't changed a bit."_

_"Me? Change? Nah. Why change what's already awesome?", he smirks. "You've done a bit of changing though. Although I can't blame you, obviously. You've been through the wringer. I'm sorry. It started with me, didn't it?"_

_"Yes...well, you were my best friend. The only one I'd got. It was my sister who...who killed you. I was supposed to be clever; I was supposed to find you. Out of all my cases to date, that's the one that will always haunt me. You deserved a life, Vic."_

_"I still am your best friend, or well, one of them now. I see you've got yourself quite a few. I'm glad you have people who care about you, who can ground you away from your crazy family. But Hero, you...we were six. No six-year-old could go through what you went through and come out the other side unchanged. Plus, as a six-year-old, you were not responsible for finding me. None of that was your fault, it was Euri's. Everyone knew there was no getting her to do anything. Honestly, she had always creeped me out, even before she stuck me in the well to die. Maybe I did deserve a life, but in a way, you gave me one again within this mind palace of yours. I'll never be truly dead if I'm in the heads and hearts of people who cared. Remember that. I know my parents still do; I know you still do. I even know that your parents still do. I feel better now that I'm more at peace, that my parents could lay me to rest finally. Thank You. I don't know what you said to Euri but thank you for finally getting her to tell you. I am at peace now, Sherlock. This should not haunt you anymore."_

_Sherlock looks down and sighs, still feeling slightly guilty. Victor goes over and hugs him, patting his back._

_"Please let go of the guilt. It won't do you any good."_

_Nodding, Sherlock returns the hug and pats Victor's back as well before pulling away. "I'm glad you're here. That I can talk to you when I need to. Your memory has always been sort of...a comfort to me. In a way. I mean, aside from thinking you were my dog. You were the first person who understood me, who chose to be a friend to me. That resonates and carries a lot of weight for me because not a lot of people like me now, you know."_

_Victor laughs softly. "Not a lot of kids liked you then either. Not with you telling them that their parents were having affairs or that their cat didn't run away, but died. But you were unique, and you were a good friend to me when I was a new kid, so of course I enjoyed being your friend. I'll always be your friend, Hero."_

_"Ugh, its been an age since I've heard that nickname, and where the hell did you get "Euri" from?"_

_"You and your dad used to call her Euri. You don't remember?"_

_"No...seems Mycroft's mind games made me forget or twist a lot of what happened back then."_

_"Understandably."_

_"Though I am curious as to how I got the nickname Hero from you. I just very vaguely remember that, but we used our pirate nicknames a lot more", Sherlock chuckles._

_"Well...this is going to sound very ironic and crazy, but uh...you actually saved me from drowning in the lake. About a year before Eurus...offed me. I was never a good swimmer. I assume maybe that's why she opted for drowning. Easy."_

_Sherlock's face becomes sullen again and he huffs annoyedly. "I hate her so much, but I can't help but still...care. I don't know why I should, she's done the most horrific, evil, vile things."_

_"Maybe because she can't exactly help it. She's sick, she was born sick...something about her mind makes her almost untamable. But she's still your little sister. Crazy or not, family is family. I'm sure even after all the quarrels you and Mycroft have been through, he still takes care of you. He was always overprotective. Acting like a third parent. I have no doubt that he totally went overboard because that...seems like a trend in your family. However, he still cares, and that's what matters. I'm just glad I was friends with the most decent Holmes kid", he smiles._

_"Possibly. Mycroft is a whole other issue", Sherlock rolls his eyes. "He thinks he's so great and powerful, yet he vomits at the sight of blood. I suppose he is useful for legal situations though; I tend to use his soft spot for me to my advantage. Of course I'm the most decent one of the lot. There's only three of us, and the other two are bonkers."_

_Victor laughs along with Sherlock for a moment and grins. "I'm glad that you can see me for who I am now."_

_"Me too. I have missed you, Vic. My life could have gone a lot differently if you hadn't died..."_

_"I know, but in a way it's good that everything turned out this way. You've saved London numerous times, defeated loads of criminals, you help NSY on a daily basis, you've made lots of friends and people that care about you. Maybe even a woman, eh...?", he winks._

_Sherlock flushes slightly and sighs. "It's complicated."_

_"No, I'm pretty sure it's not. She loves you; you love her. Nothing complicated about it unless you take into account that you are just being an idiot and are scared to progress. Look, not everything in your life is going to go badly. You have to stop thinking like that. Plus, you have the mind and the will to protect her if need be. You can't force yourself to be miserable forever. You deserve to be happy too."_

_"Do I though? Look what I put everyone through? Everything I do gets people hurt, and I don't think I want to risk that with Molly."_

_"Shouldn't that be her choice to make too? Believe it or not, almost every relationship is a risk. Maybe not a bodily harm type of risk, but a risk, nonetheless. And both of you get to make that choice. I know you want to be happy. She's a grown woman, I think she can make her own decisions as well."_

_"I suppose..."_

_"There you go!", Victor slaps his back happily. "Now you had better leave this mind maze of yours before you trap yourself in it. You look exhausted."_

_"I am actually...but what about you?"_

_"What about me, Hero?"_

_"Do you just...stay here?"_

_Victor laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I'm part of your mind, Sherlock. I'm not real. I'm dead. You have to remember that. However, I'll always be with you in spirit. Which means I'll always be right here in this room when you need to talk. I'm your best friend, and best friends are there for each other. Even beyond the grave." Victor smirks. "As you know, of course."_

_Sherlock smirks slightly and rolls his eyes. "Figuratively, for me, yes." His eyes soften and he smiles. "It was really good seeing you...as you. And grown up. I think I needed this."_

_"I agree, you did need me", he grins. "In fact, I don't see how the hell you've gotten on so well without me. But actually, you haven't, have you; you're a bit of a wreck. Look at you! You look half starved, pale as you ever were, your damn curls are a complete nest, and it seems like every bone in your body aches like an old man."_

_Sherlock allows himself to laugh genuinely and nudges him. "True, but not funny!"_

_"A bit funny." Victor beams._

_"Well, maybe a bit."_

_"Now you go on and get some real rest. I assume it's been days."_

_"Mhh, about two and a half since I've had a proper nap."_

_"Dear God mate, you've got to stop self-sabotaging. Now go! Take care of yourself, clean yourself up, and sweep that woman off her feet. I'll expect no excuses the next time I find you here. I will want all the news."_

_"God you sound like my fourth parent."_

_Victor snorts and nods. "You had better listen then. I'll see you around, Holmes."_

_Sherlock smiles. "I'll see you around, Trevor."_

_~ ~ ~_

Sherlock takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, the view of Baker Street's ceiling staring back at him. He sighs and looks around at his empty, quiet, messy flat. Glancing at his watch, he sees that its nearly 2:00am.

He drags his aching body to his bedroom and sits on his bed wrestling with the ties of his shoes. Out of the corner of his eye he sees something unusual in his closet and gets up after successfully kicking his shoes off, padding over in his sock-clad feet.

Pushing the closet door open fully, a pile of junk he kept "stored" in there clambers down in a wave and the unusual object that had caught his eye glistened yet again in the dim light of his room.

There, on top of the pile of junk lay Sherlock's childhood pirate sword. The coat of silver metallic paint unchipped, and the foam handle only slightly bent. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he picks it up carefully and reads the small childlike scrawl on the edge of the cardboard blade. {Yellowbeard}.

Sherlock could have sworn that this childhood artifact was lost years ago, and he certainly did not remember moving it into Baker Street. He caresses his fingers over the small, fragile thing, a bit in awe of how it had survived the years.

He places it on the top shelf of his closet and nudges the junk pile back in, closing the door. Smiling, he changes into pajamas and climbs into bed, turning the light off and looking out the window at the limited number of stars that can be seen.

"Always the sneaky pirate, huh Redbeard? Thanks for the good times.", he murmurs and smirks, turning onto his side and peacefully drifting to sleep. 


End file.
